Cosmic Curse
by Chinese Bakery
Summary: From the moment they were cast in the new sci-fi hit series "Cosmic Curse", Jemma Simmons and her costar Leo Fitz have had a rocky relationship. Their characters may be fan favorites, but on set, tensions are running high, and it doesn't look to be improving. Unless…
1. Chapter 1

_Written for Perthshirekisses as part of TFSN's Fitzsimmons Secret Valentine event on Tumblr.  
_ _Huge thanks to RaptorLindsay, LetterToElise and AmandaRex for beta-reading and offering invaluable input at various stages of this project._

* * *

Jemma squared her shoulders and took a deep, anchoring breath before she knocked on the makeup trailer's door. Today would be different. Today would be the day Leopold Fitz started liking her. Whatever this nonsense between them was about, it had been going on for long enough.

And if he really couldn't find it in himself to at least be civil and quit antagonizing her constantly, well… she could give as good as she got.

Fitz was already seated in the makeup chair, his eyes squeezed shut and a bunch of tissues tucked into his collar as Kara liberally dusted his face with a large powder brush.

Jemma greeted Kara with a wide, genuine smile before she slid into the chair next to Fitz, schooling her features into an expression of pleasant neutrality.

"Hello, Fitz," she said in her most cordial tone, silently praising her own restraint‒ the use of his first name never failed to make his face twitch, which she found oddly entertaining. But she had committed to being the bigger person, and Jemma Simmons was no quitter.

His eyes fluttered open for a moment, briefly meeting hers in the mirror.

"Simmons," he said cautiously, his posture stiffening.

"You're quite the early bird today," she continued with a smile while mentally congratulating herself. Positive reinforcement always makes friends!

"Yes, because I definitely had a 4:30 wake up call by choice," he replied gruffly. "Is this what we're doing now?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Are we gonna talk about the weather, next? Don't know about you, but it doesn't really feel like spring without the constant drizzle."

"So," Kara cleared her throat before giving Jemma an appreciative once-over. "You're looking good, Jem. I love this shade of blue on you."

Jemma beamed. "Thank you. This is one of the things I like best about this character," she said, gesturing to her button down shirt and tie, covered with a navy blue V-neck sweater. "She's valued for her brain and skills, not just her physical appearance. They didn't even ask me to drop 5 pounds, I don't know when that last happened," she added, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. "And she's an actual scientist! It would be nice to be a positive role model for young girls for a change."

"So, that's why they hired a petite, classically beautiful 25-year-old for the part?" Fitz scoffed. "Because feminism?"

Jemma squinted at him. "I can't tell if you're insulting me or complimenting me."

"Neither, really," he shrugged stiffly, eyes darting away. "I'm just saying, this is Hollywood, not a suffragette movement. I think you're being a tad magnanimous, is all."

"I see," she muttered, chastened. "Sorry about that. I'll do my best to be more cynical in the future." So much for creating an amicable atmosphere on set.

"Look, Simmons," he rushed to say, his smug expression faltering. "That's not what I‒"

"We're all done, Fitz," Kara said pointedly before tearing the tissues from his shirt collar. "Be careful with your lab coat today, okay? Jiaying is going to lose it if you ruin another one with foundation stains."

"Alright, but donut frosting is still a go, yeah?" he asked innocently, pushing his Scottish brogue a few notches.

"I swear, we need to hire a child wrangler for you. How old are you again?" Kara rolled her eyes, grinning in spite of herself as Fitz made his way out of the trailer. She turned back to Jemma with a knowing look.

"Sometime soon, I'm going to get you drunk and make you spill those beans," she said, biting back an amused smile as she started working on Jemma's face.

"There are no beans to spill," Jemma replied vehemently. "Not a single one. But if you ever find out what his problem with me is, I'll be happy to pick up your tab for the night."

"I refuse to believe that," Kara tutted. "It's much more fun to live vicariously through your unsubstantiated drama."

Jemma snorted then, shaking her head. "Then I'm sorry to say you've chosen the wrong outlet. My life is desperately drama-free." She shot Kara a look that she hoped would translate to 'this conversation is over' and was thankful when the makeup artist launched into a story about a difficult actor she'd worked with recently. I suppose Grant Ward is as much of a jerk as everyone says, Jemma thought absently before allowing her mind to wander.

She couldn't figure out when or why Fitz's hostility toward her had taken root. As far as she could tell, he'd disliked her from their first audition together. It was disappointing, and frankly, quite infuriating. People usually liked her‒ she was, by all accounts, a smart, engaging woman. As far as she could remember, she'd never met anyone as contrary as Fitz, and his stubborn refusal of every offered olive branch frustrated her to no end.

Excuse me for wanting to have an amicable working relationship! Jemma thought. There's no reason we shouldn't get along famously. If anything, she should be the salty one‒ she and Fitz had both started out around the same time in the late 90's, achieving semi-stardom in the UK before they were out of their teens, but Fitz's American career was developing patently smoother than hers so far.

Cosmic Curse was her biggest project yet this side of the Atlantic, and her first foray into science-fiction, a genre she'd always felt drawn to. After years of filming low-budget indie movies and failed sitcoms, she truly believed in the pilot's chance to be ordered to series. The script kept a good balance between action, humor and world-building, and the producers seemed truly excited about the story they were telling. And on top of that she'd been dreaming about working with Victoria Hand, the show's creator, for years.

The only problem was, well, Fitz. Their characters, Abigail and Trevor, formed a duo of idealistic and quirky scientists aboard a rocket ship with world-weary and cynical space travellers. While the rest of the team explored previously undiscovered planets and fought armies of ruthless space aliens, the two of them usually stayed behind on the ship. Which meant they had to play every single scene opposite each other. With no buffer.

But we shouldn't need a buffer! I'm a perfectly nice person. Ask anyone who bothered actually talking to me!

"Is that why you haven't been listening to a word I've said, huh?" Kara's bemused smirk alerted Jemma that she had indeed voiced her thoughts aloud, and she groaned.

"Oh Kara, I'm sorry," she apologized. "I just… I have a lot on my mind."

Kara smiled knowingly as she applied a light dusting of finishing powder to Jemma's face. "No worries. You two sure know how to keep things interesting around here."

* * *

On set, Fitz tended to either ignore her unless they absolutely had to interact, or gratuitously antagonize her every chance he got. This pattern of behavior was most noticeable at the pilot's wrap party. Although she would come to regret matching Daisy shot for shot the next morning, Jemma was having a great time laughing, drinking and silly-dancing. Meanwhile, Fitz was apparently determined not to acknowledge her presence in any way. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him chat animatedly with Bobbi and Hunter and tried not to feel irked that he could act so open and friendly‒ as long as she wasn't near.

Jemma and Daisy had struck an easy friendship on the first day of shooting. In essence, Daisy had walked up to her and informed her point blank they would be best friends from that moment on. She'd then launched into a sometimes hilarious, sometimes disturbing tirade about the year she'd spent living in a van after her agent had dumped her, hacking her way into castings under assumed identities to mixed results‒ while surviving on instant soup, and within minutes, Jemma would have sworn they had known each other since childhood.

Bobbi was a different story. Jemma found her so intimidating, she might have kept her distance if Daisy hadn't insisted otherwise. The most intriguing thing about her was her relationship with Hunter, who played the obligatory morally ambiguous rogue. If Jemma hadn't caught then making out outside Bobbi's trailer one evening, she would never have believed the two of them were a thing.

"Don't pick a side when they break up," Daisy warned Jemma when she caught her looking in their direction. "They always get back together, and they totally keep score."

Completing the cast was Phil Coulson, captain and de facto father of their little crew, and his right hand woman, played by Melinda May. The two of them seemed to be just as chummy off screen as they were on the show, even though their temperaments couldn't have been more different.

"She and AC go way back," Daisy told Jemma. "But whatever you do, don't ask her about her love life."

"How come you always know everything about everyone?" Jemma asked with a pout of envy.

"I have my sources," Daisy shrugged, her face splitting into a blinding grin. "Speaking of, it looks to me like there's something interesting going on between you and Broody MacFitz. Wanna tell Aunt Daisy about it?"

Jemma almost choked on her drink. "I assure you there is nothing going on between us, interesting or otherwise."

"Come on, spill," Daisy begged, elbowing her ribs. "What was it? Hook-up gone wrong? An on-set affair? Did you break his heart?" She paused to gape at Jemma with a comical expression of shock. "Oh, I bet you did, you hussy!"

"Nothing happened, I swear!"

"Why the hell not? You're both attractive and giant nerds, you look so cute together that a major studio is paying you to interact on camera, and with the hours we're working, you're each other's only shot at an active sex life for the time being. It's clearly meant to be!"

Jemma rolled her eyes. "We just‒ I don't know, rub each other the wrong way, I guess."

"Have you considered rubbing each other the right way?" Daisy asked, wiggling her eyebrows. "It might not solve all your problems, but at least you'd be working out your aggression in a mutually beneficial manner."

"Daisy!" Jemma gasped, half laughing, half scandalized. She was about to launch into a proper admonishment speech when the sound of an awkward cough made her freeze in her tracks. She didn't even need to turn to know it was him.

"Err, Simmons?" Fitz cleared his throat a second time, and even though his face was tilted down, Jemma could see it was flushed bright red. He scuffed the toe of his shoe across the carpet distractedly, and she had to strain to hear him when he mumbled, "Pictures."

"I'm sorry?"

"We're needed for pictures. They want photos of us together. For social media. Bloody Instagram," he added under his breath.

"Right. Yes. Sure. I'll‒ I'll be right there." Jemma winced before muttering, "Thanks a lot."

"My pleasure," Daisy called after her with a toothy grin.

* * *

 _"The readings make no sense," Trevor groaned in frustration. "And the data isn't processing as quickly as it should. Any luck on your end?"_

 _Abigail shook her head. "Nothing yet," she admitted, biting her lip. "This is unlike anything I've seen before. I can't sequence the nucleic acids or determine the secondary structure‒"_

 _"We're running out of time!" Trevor stressed, massaging his temple._

 _"I need another hour," Abigail countered, clenching her fists in frustration. "Or adequate equipment! I may be good, but I'm not a miracle worker."_

 _"We don't have either," Trevor said urgently. "I think it's time to come up with a contingency plan."_

"Trevor and Abigail lock eyes anxiously. Slow fade out of lab, end scene 7."

The director continued reading stage directions for the next scene, but Jemma barely noticed. She took a gulp of water before she glared in Fitz's direction across the table. Their eyes met briefly and he rose an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk.

He'd done it again. He'd changed his lines‒ just a few words here and there, but it was enough to throw her off balance. Jemma may excel at preparation, but she shouldn't have to expect surprises when it came to reading lines that were printed in black and white before her eyes. Why did he insist on making everything unnecessarily difficult?

A lot had happened in the past 8 weeks. The network had responded enthusiastically to the pilot and ordered a 13-episode series, strongly hinting that an additional 9-episode order was on the table if the ratings were good.

Everything had escalated very quickly from there. Within the next three weeks, they'd negotiated contracts, shot promotional photos‒ an awkward experience in which the photographer insisted that she and Fitz stand uncomfortably close to one another‒ and now there they were, back on set to read the script for the second episode.

The vibe was different than the pilot's‒ not as action-packed or fast-paced, but Jemma thought the writing was stronger overall. And of course, it didn't hurt that her character had more ample screen time. Unfortunately, all that time was shared with Fitz, who seemed to think he was above learning lines and doing scene prep. It was only the second time they'd seen each other since the wrap party a couple of months earlier, and already she was exasperated with his so-called work ethics, impressively short temper and incessant snacking. Still, for better or for worse, they were in this together.

Jemma let out a resigned sigh before she turned the page of her script, as she prepared to read her lines for scene 10 with exact, spiteful faithfulness to the text. She may have been determined to make their partnership work, but she'd be damned if she wasn't going to do this her way.

* * *

"Jemma!" Daisy bellowed. "Hurry, it's about to start!"

"Coming," Jemma yelled back. Buzzing with nervous excitement, she poured the microwave popcorn into a bowl and grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge before dashing back to the living room. "Did I miss anything?"

"Just the longest commercial break in history." Daisy glanced up from her phone. "They'll be here any minute. LA traffic," she shrugged.

The next moment, the doorbell chimed and Jemma's small living room erupted in greetings and excited chatter.

"Thank you for having us," Bobbi told Jemma as she pulled her into a tight hug. "Sorry we're so late! I swear Hunter insulted every single driver on the way‒ good thing no one can understand a word he says."

"I do. He can be pretty creative. Especially when someone enables him," Fitz deadpanned, before stage-whispering to Bobbi, "I'm never getting in a car with you again."

"You love us," Bobbi replied with feigned sweetness, ruffling the curls at the top of his head.

"It's starting," Daisy shouted. "Everybody shut up!"

They all managed to cram onto Jemma's 3-seat sofa as the opening credits rolled, clapping and cheering effusively as each of their names appeared on the screen in bold, white letters.

As the most social media savvy member of the group, Daisy had volunteered to live-tweet the premiere. She hadn't let go of her phone for hours, and kept busy entertaining viewers from the East Coast.

"SciFiNerd42 thinks you're equal parts hot and scary," she informed Bobbi.

"Oh, mate, you don't know the half of it," Hunter grinned.

In the show's first episode, their misfit crew of space travellers crash-landed on a hostile planet at the end of the galaxy. While the rest of the team rescued Bobbi's character, "Abigail" and "Trevor" teamed up to repair the ship's faulty engine, bickering and bantering the entire time.

"Hey," Daisy exclaimed, slapping Jemma's arm. "You guys have a musical theme!"

Jemma bit her lip and nodded, her eyes still on the screen. She hadn't noticed the swell of strings and synths immediately because she was too busy scrutinizing her own performance, but now it was all she could hear, and she felt a flutter of unease in her stomach.

"It's a romantic theme," Bobbi piped in, her innocent tone contrasting sharply with her mischievous smirk.

It could be interpreted as such. The executive producers had told them broadly about the overarching plot for the season, but not much in the way of developing relationships.

Craning her neck to catch Fitz's eye, Jemma asked, "Did you know about this?"

"Not a clue," Fitz muttered, the tips of his ears growing pink. "They don't really need my input when it comes to the soundtrack."

"Well, people are definitely picking up on it," Daisy provided helpfully. "They say you'd make a cute couple."

The two of them groaned in unison. But for all his faults, Jemma had to admit Fitz held a certain appeal on screen. He could even be charming, in a bashful, almost juvenile way. In real life, he was too grumpy and irritable to retain those qualities‒ with her, anyway. He seemed to be getting along just fine with everybody else.

On the screen, Bobbi‒ and her body-double‒ were now fighting alone against four evil goons in the episode's longest and most sensational action scene. As the cast clapped and hooted, Bobbi stood up and did a little bow.

"I'd like to thank my personal trainer…" she said through a wide grin.

"We're trending on Twitter!" Daisy shouted, brandishing her phone in triumph. "We did it! We're on people's radar!" she cheered, pulling them all into a slightly awkward group hug. Fitz's palm burned like fire as it made contact with Jemma's arm, but she was too happy to even think to shrug it off.


	2. Chapter 2

"So, Jemma," Rosalind Price grinned before taking a sip of what had to be her way-too-many-th cup of coffee. "The show has been garnering a lot of attention. Critics love the show, you've been growing a pretty intense fan base… Did you see all that coming?"

Jemma didn't have to force her answering smile. "Of course not. We're very proud of what we're doing, and the stories we're telling, but the reception has been… miles beyond what we were hoping for. I'm really humbled to have been given the chance to be part of Cosmic Curse, and I hope people keep enjoying the show. It's going to be a wild ride."

"What is it like, working with Leo Fitz? He was so good in The Pod."

"So good," Jemma nodded politely and sat up at the edge of the couch, waiting for an actual question.

"Did you two know each other before?"

"Not really, no. I know it's counterintuitive, but not all British actors know each other." Curb your passive aggression, Simmons, she thought to herself. "It's been great. He's excellent at what he does, obviously, which pushes me to be better, too."

"O-kay," Rosalind blew out a breath, raising a curious eyebrow before skimming through her notes. "So, there's been a lot of speculation about the Oracle's true identity…" She let the sentence hang in the air with a significant tilt of her head.

"Honestly, your guess is as good as mine," Jemma laughed.

"There's a popular online theory that you might have a traitor in your ranks. What do you think about that?"

"Oh. Well, that would be quite dark, wouldn't it? Even for Cosmic Curse…" She gave a single-shoulder shrug. "I have my theories, but this is way above my clearance level."

"Hey, I had to give it a try," Rosalind said with an incisive smirk. "So, what can you tell us about what's in store for Abigail and Trevor? Any chance of a romance?"

Jemma began absently wringing her hands together. The question wasn't exactly a surprise; it seemed to be all people wanted to know about, but instead of getting used to the scrutiny, she was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the level of interest. It felt‒ personal, somehow. Private.

"I'm sorry, what?" she stalled.

"Oh, come on, you've got to give us something . Everybody ships Trevigail! They're adorable together."

"Are they?" Jemma took a large gulp of tea to ease her drying throat. "Well, you know there's a lot of reasons why that wouldn't be‒ I mean, sure Trevor is rather‒ well formed and symmetrical but… they're such good friends! And literally each other's only friends in the entire universe, at this point. You wouldn't want to‒ it would be a shame to mess that up. And they don't get on so well, anyway. I mean, they're constantly bickering‒"

"Looks like foreplay to me," Rosalind snickered.

"I don't know about that," she gulped, covering her warm neck with her hands. "Sometimes bickering is just bickering," she added with a wavering smile. Isn't it?

* * *

"Just another day at the office," Jemma muttered under her breath as she watched the scene unfolding before her eyes.

Daisy was dangling from a wire cable high in the air in front of a green screen, with a fan blowing in her face and sending her hair flying everywhere as she pretended to be sucked up into a mysterious whirlwind.

From where Jemma was standing, it looked both really silly and seriously impressive.

"I wish they would let me do something like that," she said wistfully. "Just once."

"I don't," Fitz grunted. "You wouldn't hear me complain if they never made us leave the lab."

Jemma turned to him sharply, her face scrunched into a scowl. "Really? You'd rather have us locked in a room speaking gibberish when we could be doing all sorts of amazing things we might never have another opportunity to do?"

"Gladly," he replied in the same provoking tone he always used when he was keen on picking a fight. "You realize the insurance would never clear you for that kind of stunt work, right? You're not exactly Athletic Spice‒"

"It's Sporty Spice," she scoffed. "And you're one to talk! Remind me again which one of us almost passed out that time we had to run 100 yards?"

"You're going to blame me for getting heatstroke? Nice, Simmons. Really nice."

"Oh, don't be dramatic. It was maybe a tiny fit of heat exhaustion, although I'm not convinced‒"

"Please," Hunter begged, hands clasped together. "Please, for the love of our collective bloody sanity, will you two get a room? A backseat? A broom closet? Anything?"

Fitz completely froze, and for a brief moment Jemma thought he might run, but he quickly animated again and began shaking with rage.

"That's completely out of line," he sputtered, his entire posture jumping to the defensive while his neck grew a deep shade of pink.

"He's right," Jemma concurred, her arms crossed over her chest and a deep frown on her face. Embarrassingly, she could feel her own neck and cheeks heating up as well. "That really is quite an inappropriate thing to say under any circumstance, but this is a professional environment‒"

"Alright, alright!" Hunter smirked, raising his palms in a pacifying gesture as he retreated to the edge of the set. "It's nice to see you two agreeing on something."

Jemma glared at Hunter as he walked away. She was being ridiculous, she knew. She was an adult, one who usually could take a joke.

A thick, uncomfortable silence settled between them as they both stared straight ahead rather than at each other. On set, Daisy was back on solid ground for now, sipping water with a straw while her hair was being tamed down before the next take.

"So…" Jemma said with a sideways glance, eager to dispel the silence but not willing to back down from their squabble. "Looking forward to our first convention?" She knew he wasn't, of course; he hadn't exactly kept it a secret. Public speaking wasn't Fitz's favorite thing‒ his voice came out a little weird and high-strung, and he couldn't help blurting out embarrassingly lame jokes. As such, he was decidedly unenthusiastic about the convention, to say the least.

Jemma was mildly terrified herself. It was a low-scale, sci-fi only gathering, but the schedule was dense and some planned events were far out of her comfort zone, especially the direct interactions with fans for autographs and pictures. The fact that anyone would pay real money to have their picture taken next to her still felt entirely surreal.

"Don't remind me," Fitz shuddered. "I wish they would let Coulson do all the promo work. At least he seems to enjoy it."

"You're still upset about the photoshoot, aren't you?"

"I just wish we didn't have to waste time on that kind of stuff." He glanced her way then, only to turn in the opposite direction the moment their eyes met. Looking suddenly self-conscious, he crossed his arms across his chest. "I doubt anyone but my mum has any interest in collecting pictures of me, and I'm not exactly an inspirational speaker."

"You're not so bad," she said before she could catch herself. 'Not so bad' wasn't exactly the most glowing of endorsements. "And I heard your Meet & Greet was actually the first to be fully booked."

"My‒ what ?" Fitz instantly turned green. He shook his head, looking increasingly nauseous. "I‒ I'd better go and, huh‒" The sentence trailed off as he gestured unconvincingly, eyes wide, clearly on the edge of panic.

Jemma instantly regretted her earlier teasing. "Do you want to get some tea?" she offered, placing a calming hand on his shoulder and giving him a gentle push. "Catering's awful, but I have some of the good stuff in my trailer."

"You're not propositioning me, are you?" he half-heartedly joked as he followed her outside, still looking concerningly pale. "Cause I'm rubbish at reading the signs."

"Oh, please. I have standards," she snickered, guiding him to her trailer. He didn't say a word again until he'd downed his second cup, but at least some of his color returned while they fought over which tea‒ Earl Grey or English Breakfast‒ could rightfully be called the good stuff.

* * *

Jemma was rehearsing her lines, the text so full of approximative science lingo that it was nearly impossible to memorize, when Daisy knocked excitedly on her trailer's door.

"Ta-da," she practically shouted as she presented Jemma with the upcoming issue of TV Guide. "It's finally here!"

She pushed inside and went straight to Jemma's narrow couch, dangling her already well-worn copy in front of her, until she took a glance at Jemma's script and stopped dead in her tracks.

"Mmh, Simmons?" she said warily, staring at Jemma as if she'd just grown a second head. "Why did you rainbow-flag your script?"

"I didn't. It's just, I have a system, alright?" Jemma said, feeling the colors rise up her cheeks. People always took issue with her system. The system worked , though, and she had to learn her lines somehow. There was nothing wrong with being organized and, yes, possibly a little fastidious. "B is for Blue is for Backstory. C is for Canary is for Comedy. D is for… well, you get the gist of it," she said, shrugging self-consciously. I really need to come up with something for D.

Daisy chewed on her bottom lip and it was clear that she was dying to say something. Instead, prioritizing their friendship over her perpetually sharp tongue, she shook her head and sat up, handing Jemma the magazine. Jemma could feel her friend's expectant eyes on her as she flipped through it.

There were 6 full pages devoted to the show, and the page in question had an nearly full-page photo of her and Fitz, followed by a very condensed version of her talk with Rosalind Price.

It had been a tense shoot, during which they'd managed to annoy each other even more effectively than usual, for no reason beyond the fact that they could . Within 15 minutes, the photographer was at the end of his rope. "I don't know if all that glaring at each other is considered sexy in the UK, or if it's meant to be edgy," he'd huffed, gesturing between the two of them. "But this is not what I'm commissioned for. Can you try pretending you actually like each other?"

Jemma skimmed through the short article, her eyes jumping back and forth between the interview and the picture above.

"This is so heavily edited it barely looks like us."

"You two look cute," Daisy assured her, nodding toward the page.

"If you say so." They were standing side-by-side in a cheap cardboard approximation of a spaceship, and although they wore lab coats similar to the ones they sported on set, their faces looked completely off. For starters she was wearing about three times as much makeup as she usually did in the show‒ a full-set of mile-long fake lashes, bright pink lipstick, the works. Completely inappropriate for working in a lab, honestly. His eyes looked different too‒ even more strikingly blue. And while she was facing the camera and looking straight ahead, Fitz was inching toward her and staring at her intently, almost longingly.

"Very 'daytime soap star-crossed lovers'," Daisy continued. "The Trevigail crowd is gonna love that."

Jemma scrunched her nose with distaste. "Can you please never say that word out loud again?"

"Hey, I didn't make it up!" Daisy held up her hands. "You have to admit it's an excellent ship name. And anyway, it's only gonna get worse after this episode. Like it or not, Trevigail is a thing. "

In the episode they were shooting, Abigail was kidnapped by a crew of space pirates and Trevor went above and beyond, disobeying an array of direct orders and risking his own life to rescue her.

It was a challenging shoot, and not just because they had twice as much screentime as in a typical episode. The nature of their scenes was different too‒ for the first time, their characters acknowledged they shared a deep emotional attachment that bled into their professional partnership.

A few days before they were handed the script, Victoria had summoned them both to her office and informed them that, depending on the public's reception, they might explore that connection further‒ meaning Abigail and Trevor could eventually become romantically involved.

"This is not what we had in mind originally, but there's an interest," she stated dryly. "It's a competitive world out there. We don't want to neglect a potential fanbase. Besides, the studio's pushing for it."

Jemma grimaced, recalling her conversation with Rosalind.

"I thought we already had a fanbase." Fitz didn't sound overjoyed with the news, either.

"Enough to achieve cult status. You know what happened to every single cult sci-fi shows in recent years?" Victoria took a dramatic pause, staring them both down. "They were all cancelled within the first two seasons. I don't want Cosmic Curse to be fondly remembered, I want it to live on. Are we in agreement?"

And now, there they were, holding back tears and exchanging awkward proclamations of fondness.

 _"You could have been captured," Abigail said, her lips trembling, as she tightened her hold on the lapels of his coat. Trevor's face became blurry as her eyes filled with tears. "You could have died."_

 _"Yeah, well." He looked down, but not quick enough for her to miss the mirroring emotion on for face. He shrugged gawkily, and when his eyes found hers again, he forced a lopsided smile. "I didn't have a choice. It's pretty hard to find a decent lab partner in space."_

This was not what Jemma had signed up for when she'd taken the part of a space traveling lab-bound scientist, but she had to hand it to Fitz‒ he was good at this. He made it easy for her, too: all she had to do was to respond to the subtle notes of love, relief and awkwardness that played on his face. The way his voice cracked at times, as if he could barely contain his feelings, made her heart jump in her chest. It wasn't what he said‒ the dialogue was quite plain‒ but the way he said it. She was stunned by the obviousness with which Fitz laid down Trevor's feelings. That was not hinting at a possible romance‒ he was laying the ground for it. It was almost as if he knew something she didn't about the future of their characters.

Once they were done for the day, it was a long time before she felt entirely grounded in herself again. Usually Jemma felt tired but satisfied after a long day of shooting, but this episode left her feeling distracted, agitated and, even though it pained her to admit, quite lonely.

It must be nice, she thought to herself in the privacy of her trailer, as she waited for the kettle to boil. It had been a while since she'd last had a serious boyfriend, or any kind of boyfriend for that matter, and her relationships so far had all been rather underwhelming.

She inhaled the comforting steam of her tea and sighed. Yes, it must be nice to have someone feel that strongly about you.


	3. Chapter 3

Jemma woke from her impromptu nap in a state of mild confusion as a familiar sound reached her subconscious over the whirring of the coach. She stirred languorously for a while, stretching her legs as well as she could in the cramped seat.

Across the aisle, Daisy was bunched up under a fleece blanket, a furry eye mask covering half her face. Somewhere in the back, Coulson was talking on the phone, offering directions that sounded a lot like orders.

Jemma's back cracked satisfyingly when she got up. She was bumping left and right with each jolt of the coach as she walked straight to the source of the sound‒ namely Fitz, sprawled nonchalantly over two seats, a tablet in one hand and a bag of crisps in the other.

Sensing her approaching, he sat up slightly, frowning defensively. "My headphones broke," he said by means of explanation. "I can turn it down‒"

"Is that the fourth series?" she asked, hopeful.

Fitz's eyes widened in surprise. "You like Doctor Who?"

"Of course I like Doctor Who," she replied, rolling her eyes. "I'm a British native with an iota of good taste and curiosity. Move over, will you?"

Ignoring his questioning frown, she pushed his knee away, freeing some space for her to sit next to him, and held out her hand so he would share the snacks. It wasn't fifteen minutes before they were arguing bitterly over whether Rose, Martha or Donna was the best companion of the Davies era.

"Remind me again when Donna walked the earth for an entire year, raising resistance everywhere she went? Did I miss the part when she joined UNIT after she was done travelling with the Doctor? It takes a modicum of selflessness‒"

"I think the word you're looking for is self-righteousness," Fitz cut in, his tone insufferably arrogant.

Jemma gasped in disapproval . "How can you‒"

"Can we just all agree what's-her-face with the teeth is the best one and move on already?" Daisy's voice rang out from behind them. "I'm trying to get some sleep, here."

They both turned perfectly in synch. "Who, Rose? But‒"

"No! No buts," Daisy shushed them, pulling her blanket on top of her head, mumbling loudly about all the ways she wished they would shut each other up.

Thoroughly chastened, they resumed their viewing in complete silence, barely daring to glance at each other until they arrived at the convention hall.

* * *

The first event of the day was a group Q&A, in front of a packed room of excited fans.

"I have a question for all of you," said a middle-aged woman in full warrior princess gear. "If you had it your way, which movie or series would the show crossover with?"

Daisy and Coulson lengthily debated which superhero movie they'd most like to invade, and which power their characters should be given.

"I have to go with Doctor Who." Jemma glanced in Fitz's direction. "I think Abigail would make a pretty good companion, don't you?"

He made a face, pretending to ponder it, and the crowd cheered as they had for every answer given so far, even the most mundane. It was both disconcerting and slightly intoxicating. She'd been aware for a while that her status was changing, but this was nothing like being asked for an awkward selfie in the produce aisle.

"Anything with space monkeys in it," Fitz grinned dreamily. "We'd just land on a planet someday, and find out it's full of civilized apes, with technology more advanced than ours."

Coulson made a face. "I've seen that movie. It doesn't end well."

"I can't think of a PG answer," Hunter admitted, scratching the back of his head. His smirk grew blinding as the entire room erupted into hoots and whistles.

Bobbi shrugged. "Anything that gives me a chance to stretch my muscles a little."

"All that sitting on your hands you're doing in the show must get pretty tedious," the host added, tongue-in-cheek, to more applause. By the end of the hour, Jemma's ears were buzzing from the relentless clapping and shouting.

"They like us, they really like us!" Daisy exulted, mirroring Jemma's jubilant smile. For a few minutes, standing there behind the stage with her coworkers-turned-friends, she allowed herself to plainly embrace the feeling of being on top of the world.

* * *

Jemma felt immensely self-conscious when she left her room all dressed up in the leather pants, halter blouse and statement jacket she'd splurged on for the occasion. Usually, she prided herself for her above average fashion sense. After months of switching back and forth between Abigail's customary lab coat and her own comfy civilian clothes, however, she worried her style acumen might be slightly off.

The feeling only grew when she reached the photocall for the party. She may have looked nice, but everybody else was dressed as though they were attending the bloody Emmy Awards.

It wasn't until Fitz materialized beside her, dressed in his every day slacks and a needlessly warm wooly cardigan, that the unpleasant tightness in her stomach and the nagging impression of having made a faux pas finally eased. Now they could be the quirky pair of Brits who chose to disregard the industry fashion norms. The depth of her relief must have been conspicuous in the smile she shot him. He grinned back shyly, looking more than a little taken aback.

As they advanced through the line of photographers, she could feel his eyes graduating back to her, reviving her earlier bashfulness.

"What is it?" she finally asked.

Fitz cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "Nothing. You look nice, is all."

The moment they stepped inside, she heard Daisy calling her name, just as Fitz muttered something about finding Hunter.

Daisy wasn't hard to spot, waving and gesturing almost comically in her skin-tight dress, a martini glass balanced precariously between her fingers.

"Interesting choice," she said, her eyebrows raising as she examined Jemma's outfit appraisingly.

"Oh, Daisy. You look stunning," Jemma replied.

"Let me introduce you." Daisy beamed to the gentleman in black tie attire she'd been flirting with moments before. "Antoine Triplett," she nodded his way, "Jemma Simmons."

"Triplett?" Jemma couldn't help sputtering. It was ridiculous, she knew, being so impressed by a name, but… "As in‒"

"Yep. He's Hollywood royalty," Daisy confirmed gleefully, making no attempt at discretion whatsoever.

Antoine huffed in mock-exasperation. "Pleasure to meet you, Jemma. You can call me Trip," he said with a vibrant smile, clearly unruffled by Daisy's straightforwardness. "And I wouldn't say royalty, per se. It's a countship at best."

* * *

"So, Jemma," Hunter grinned, putting his hand on her shoulder to guide her gently but firmly to the couch where Fitz was currently sitting. "What's it like, being associated with TV's latest heartthrob?"

She shot the two of them a confused look.

"Our boy Fitz is turning out to be quite a ladies man," he continued. "You should have seen the crowd lining up to meet him. For a moment there it looked like they might end up tearing off his clothes, but alas."

"Oh. That's great," Jemma choked out, chancing a quick glimpse at Fitz. Next to her, he was pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed shut. "Isn't it?" she asked, as Hunter drew away to get his drink refilled.

"It's bloody embarrassing," Fitz grumbled, hunching his shoulders diminutively. "Turns out I'm not very good at small talk. Or smiling on command. Or interacting with other humans, apparently."

"Well, correct me if I'm wrong but‒ aren't you an actor?" She couldn't help it. As much as she'd meant to strike an innocuous conversation, she was pleasantly buzzed from alcohol and sugar and besides, his evident grumpiness was way too amusing.

"Yeah well, I usually have my lines written up for me by someone wittier," he shrugged, toying with his now empty glass. "And I only ever have to smile when your character does something silly."

"You could always stare broodily into the void," she replied, rolling her eyes emphatically. "I'm sure your fans would love that."

He shot her a dark look in response, and she burst into chuckles. "Yes! Exactly like that."

He grunted unhappily. "You're a riot tonight. Somebody spiked your drink?"

"I'll have you know I have an outstanding sense of humor and‒"

"‒flawless comedic timing. So you keep saying, but I have yet to see any evidence of that."

"I haven't been given the material to prove it," she retorted haughtily, crossing her arms over her chest. Silence settled over them again, and as she glanced away, she saw Daisy in the distance, talking animatedly as she treated a laughing Trip to one of her long winded anecdotes. Jemma couldn't help but feel a pinch of envy.

"Daisy seems to be having fun," she noted, jerking her chin in their general direction.

Fitz gave the pair a curious look for a moment, until the dots connected in his mind. "Is that Antoine Triplett?" he asked, his eyebrows shooting up to meet his hairline.

"It is." Jemma nodded gleefully, her eyes still on them. "Have you seen the way he looks at her?"

"Course," Fitz shrugged. "I have eyes." For a moment, it looked like he was about to say something else, but instead he looked down, his long fingers playing with the rim of his glass.

"You know," he said after a long pause, "I remember you in that godawful show… The Conservatory?"

"The Academy," she corrected, scrunching her nose.

Fitz nodded exaggeratedly. "Right, The Academy."

"I wouldn't say it was awful‒"

"It really, really was. But if memory serves, your comedic timing was adequate, back then."

"Thank you so much for that generous assessment," she said sardonically , but she couldn't keep the corners of her mouth from ticking up.

Fitz frowned at the table for a few moments, clearly debating how opportune it would be to say more. "Did you know I guest-starred in that, once?"

"Did you?" she gasped in surprise. She'd been in every episode of the show during it's three-year run and had no recollection of ever meeting Fitz.

"It was one of those Very Special Episodes, early on. My character was depressed and isolated, and of course bloody Charles reached out to him, made everything okay."

"Ugh, Charles," she concurred, rolling her eyes. "He was the actual worst."

He gave her an odd, hesitant look. "Weren't you dating that guy? The one who played Charles?"

"Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. Milton and I dated when we first started shooting for‒ maybe a couple of months? He tended to agree with everything I said, which was… not very attractive."

"So you didn't break up with him because of his humongous head, then?"

"Of course not, that's horrible," she laughed. "I mean, you aren't wrong, his head was… disproportionate at best, but I got used to it. The excessive compliance, I couldn't get over."

"I find that very hard to believe," he noted, his smirk threatening to grow into a full-blown smile.

"Too bad we didn't get a chance to meet back then. I'm sure you'd have happily challenged every word out of my mouth and restored the balance of the universe."

He looked to be searching for words for a minute, his mouth opening and closing, but ultimately he said nothing, rubbing his face with his hand instead.

Did he mean… Her eyes widened dramatically. "Did we?"

With an hyperbolic shrug, he looked away.

Feeling both outraged and strangely ebullient, she punched his shoulder. "Oh my God, why didn't you say anything?"

"I don't know, okay? There didn't seem to be any point to it since you obviously didn't remember."

"Why didn't I remember you?" she asked, mostly to herself, and he gave a self-deprecating bark of a laugh.

"I was sixteen and achingly shy. Really scrawny, looked younger than my age. And it was way before The Pod, before Finding Doctor Hall and Magical Place even, so… no one knew me, and you were‒ you were so‒ anyway. Someone introduced us, and after that I did my best to avoid you at every turn."

"But… why?" she asked softly, her eyebrows drawing together.

Evading her eyes, Fitz shook his head fiercely. He looked so miserable and embarrassed Jemma almost felt bad for pushing the topic, but none of it made any sense to her. And she wanted to understand, desperately. She felt like he'd just accidentally let her glance at something important‒ a missing piece of the puzzle she'd been failing to complete for months. Her pulse was picking up at the prospect of finally piecing it together.

"Fitz‒" His hand was resting on the table and she impulsively covered it with hers. The moment they touched, he tore his hand away as if he'd been burned and abruptly shot to his feet.

"I should, huh‒" He stood awkwardly with his hands on his hips, his eyes darting between her face and the ground. "Drink," he finally said. "I'm gonna get another drink."

"I'll come with you," she said defiantly, slipping out of her seat.

"No!" he nearly shouted, his tone so vehement she took an involuntary step back, jostling her chair. "I'll be fine. You just‒ you stay here."

She watched as he walked away, past Bobbi and Hunter who were openly snogging in an easy chair, past Daisy and Trip who were still flirting conspicuously by the bar, past the swimming pool, the steam-punk themed buffet and the photo booth‒ and that's when she leapt into action.

If she hadn't been so buzzed on adrenaline and the few glasses of champagne she'd had earlier that evening, she might not have felt emboldened enough to follow him‒ at the very least, she would have thought twice and worried about causing a scene. But as things were, she just couldn't stand the thought of him running away‒ not like this. Not in the middle of that conversation.

"Fitz, wait!" He was walking briskly, but so was Jemma‒ she was almost running now, trying her best to ignore the puzzled stares she left in her wake.

"What do you want from me, Jemma?" he huffed exasperatedly when she reached for him, shaking her hand off his forearm.

The sound of her name rolling out of his lips startled her‒ it was the first time he'd ever called her by her first name. Even in interviews, he always got away with calling her Simmons.

"Nothing, I don't‒" Whatever denial she'd meant to offer melted away when she met his eyes. "What do you mean, what do I want?"

"Why did you follow me? Why are you‒" Frustrated, he paused to rub his face with his hand. "We're not even friends, we're not‒ anything."

It stung, that he would say that to her face. Even if their relationship was often contentious, she would have thought that, at the very least, they were past being nothing to each other.

"Aren't we though? I was under the impression that we were getting there."

"Of course you were," he scoffed, and she felt a flash of hurt and irritation zing through her as her fists curled at her sides.

"Why are you so angry with me?" she demanded to know, stepping forward into his space. The thrill she felt then was unfamiliar but potent‒ she usually wasn't one to spoil for a fight, but this one felt long overdue. "Not just today, but‒ always! Since day one, you've been giving me the cold shoulder, antagonizing me, mocking me, acting as if working with me is the lowest point of your entire pasty life! The least you could do is tell me why!"

She stopped talking, panting slightly, and only then did she notice the way he was looking at her. The way his darkened eyes were fixated on her lips‒ as if equally terrified and desperate… starving for a taste of her that could possibly be lethal. Her heart stuttered as all the air flew right out of her lungs.

"Fitz?" she murmured, feeling dazed and completely out of her depth. He was so close. All she would have to do to reach his lips was stand on her tiptoes. Whoa.

If anyone had asked an hour earlier if she'd ever thought about kissing Fitz, she would have forcefully denied it. But now, in this moment, it felt like the only thing she'd ever truly wanted to do.

His lips were trembling, his chest rising and falling with each rapid breath, and she wondered if his heart was racing like hers, if his hands were sweaty too, if a spark of heat had ignited in his belly like it had in her own.

Yes, she realized. Yes, he must feel it too. The contradictory impulses registering on his face perfectly reflected what was tearing at her.

Gingerly she tilted her face up, one millimeter after the other, afraid of scaring him away as she acted on her impulse. When she felt his palm come to rest on her lower back under her jacket, spreading heat through the fabric of her blouse, she couldn't help the shiver that ran through her. Abruptly, his hand flew away, and she instantly missed the warmth

"Jemma," he breathed against her mouth, his voice so low she couldn't make out his tone, "what are you doing?"

Immediately, she straightened and inched away, feeling like she'd been slapped or doused with frigid water‒ or both. When she forced her eyes open to look his way, his face was anguished and he seemed to be on the verge of tears. She couldn't stand to see it. Couldn't bear to watch his mouth quiver or his eyes glisten.

Gasping on a sob, she turned around and ran away.


	4. Chapter 4

The ride back from the convention was only made tolerable by the protective bubble created by Jemma's headphones, as well as her castmates' blatant hangovers.

Despite her best efforts, Jemma couldn't stop thinking about what had happened at the party. Every time the incident wormed itself in her consciousness, she felt something akin to a hot flash and was swiftly consumed by blazing embarrassment. She'd thrown herself at him, a man she didn't even like, in a semi-public setting no less‒ only to be immediately rejected. She couldn't explain her behavior to herself, or to Fitz, for that matter. It had to be the alcohol.

The following week's shoot was brutal. The "Mad Max episode", as they all referred to it, was shot almost entirely in the desert with barely a fraction of the comfort they enjoyed on their usual LA set. The bulk of the episode consisted of car chases and multi-angle action scenes, and the cast bore the brunt of the long, intense days.

The upside was that it left Jemma and Fitz very few occasions to interact off camera‒ and precious little time to think. As exhaustion settled over her, the memory of her embarrassment slowly receded to a far corner of her mind.

The text from Victoria Hand's assistant came late on Friday evening, as Jemma was driving home after a gruelling day spent running in the heat, covered with so much dirt and sweat Kara had her work cut out for her.

The message was tersely worded and rendered even more laconic by Siri's emotionless tone, but it chilled her so completely Jemma had to pull over at the first opportunity to read it with her own eyes. She was to present herself at the Executive Producer's office as soon as possible that very evening. There was little doubt as to the compulsory nature of the invitation.

Although Victoria was extremely involved in the day-to-day operations on set, she hadn't addressed Jemma directly since the day she'd informed her and Fitz of the plans for Trevor and Abigail's future. Being summoned to the EP's office after hours on a Friday night could mean any number of things, but none of them good.

Were they killing her off? Already? The show was doing well‒ not only had the network ordered additional episodes for this season, but there were rumors of an early renewal. The characters, though, were all disposable.

Jemma contemplated the depressing possibility for the entire ride, as her initial disbelief steadily grew into burning, righteous anger.

She could see it now, plain as day. They'd been building their characters dynamic for one reason only, and that reason was to give Trevor a big heroic arc‒ which happened to come at the price of her character's life. They were freaking fridging her. It was such an infuriating, overdone cliché. It was so bloody lazy.

Jemma's forehead creased with irritation when she found Fitz slouched on a couch in the waiting room, his nervousness betrayed only by the frantic tapping of his foot on the floor. His eyes rounded slightly when he saw her, and he nodded a tense hello.

"Did they tell you what we're here for?" he asked, scratching at his ear nervously.

"No, but I bet I can guess," she seethed in response.

His presence only served to solidify her premonition of what was coming, and although she knew it was unfair to blame Fitz for the producers' decision, she couldn't help being furious at him.

After a few minutes spent waiting in uncomfortable silence, Koenig, Victoria's jovial assistant, waved them both in, his expression uncharacteristically serious. Victoria didn't look up from her computer for a solid minute, before removing her glasses and crossing her hands on her desk wordlessly, her lips pressed into a hard line.

"I could explain why I asked you here," she said gravely, looking first at Jemma, then at Fitz, "but it's probably best that I just show you."

Without further ado, she turned her laptop to face them and pressed Enter.

Jemma knew from the first frame what the video would show. The aggravation that had been burning in the pit of her stomach moments earlier was rapidly morphing into an odd mix of guilt and agitation that stained her cheeks and clogged her throat.

The poorly-lit, pixelated clip had clearly been filmed with a phone during the convention after party and despite the dismal quality of the footage, she and Fitz were easily identifiable. The video showed them arguing for a bit, the angle suggesting they were in plain view of the other guests rather than in a relatively private corner, before they melded into each other in a slow, intimate embrace. Just before their lips touched, they abruptly jolted away from each other, and Jemma could be seen running from the party while Fitz looked after her in dismay.

"This will be hitting TMZ tomorrow morning at 10. The only reason it hasn't been made public yet is because someone there still owes me a favor." Victoria paused to eye them both sternly. "Now. Do we have a problem?"

Jemma risked a glance in Fitz's direction and found he was holding his face in both hands. His neck and ears had turned an impressive shade of red, which made her feel only marginally better about her own staggering embarrassment.

"That's it?" Victoria clicked her tongue. "Let me tell you, the awkward silence sounds a lot like a yes to me."

"It's entirely my fault, I shouldn't have‒" Fitz began to explain.

"Fitz has nothing to do with this, honestly‒" Jemma tried to speak over him.

"Cute," Victoria cut them both off with a sardonic smile, "but I don't care. Rumors of an on-set romance between two unattached, attractive costars are par for the course. What I need you to tell me is that this‒ whatever this is‒ isn't going to affect your work. And that you can play nice with the paparazzi who will no doubt start camping out by your front doors the moment this thing hits the internet."

"Paparazzi?" they both gasped in unison.

"Welcome to Hollywood, kids. And please get rid of the matching guilt-stricken expressions. Those people can smell blood better than vampires."

* * *

The relentless buzzing of her doorbell was giving her a pounding headache. It had been going on all morning, on and off‒ photographers and rag mag reporters trying to lure her out of her condo‒ but she hadn't figured out how to deactivate the bloody thing yet. If this circus was to go on for more than a couple of days, she would have no choice but to address the problem head-on‒ possibly with a sledgehammer.

This particular interloper was much ruder than his predecessors. The buzzing went on and on with barely a moment of pause between salvos. Jemma briefly considered calling the police‒ Surely it can't be legal to harass people like this, can it? Or are there exceptions for moderately successful TV actresses?‒ but as tempting as it was, she would rather avoid bringing even more unwanted attention to herself.

The electric buzzing finally ceased and Jemma let out a long sigh of relief as she tentatively massaged her temples with her index fingers.

Moments later, her phone started vibrating across the coffee table.

"What the hell ?" Her head fell back as her entire face scrunched up in a grimace of exasperation, until she glanced in the direction of her phone and recognized Daisy's face flashing on the screen.

"Open the damn door, Simmons," Daisy huffed impatiently the moment she picked up. "Take-out's getting cold and Bobbi's this close to assaulting a pap with a pair of chopsticks."

"You brought me food?" Jemma asked hopefully after smuggling them inside.

"I brought us food. 'Cause I know you," Daisy pointed out, rising an eyebrow. "I would bet my middle finger there's nothing in your fridge but sriracha and beer."

"Believe it or not, I don't have a lot of time for cooking," she conceded with a shrug. "On weeks like these, I call it victory when I have enough energy to take off my shoes before I crash."

"Speaking of crash sites…" Bobbi settled down on Jemma's well-worn couch. "How come you're still living in this dump? You're a regular on a hit TV show! We should be having this conversation by the pool, sipping on perfectly chilled margaritas, expertly mixed and served to us by your handsome manservant."

"Hunter's cool with you having a handsome manservant?" Daisy stage-whispered.

"No, but Jemma doesn't have a Hunter," Bobbi countered. "Or at least that's what I thought…"

"Here we go," Jemma huffed with an exaggerated eyeroll.

Dropping next to Bobbi, Daisy scoffed in outrage. "Don't we get any credit for holding out for an entire week?"

"We should," Bobbi smirked. "Poor Daisy's been quaking with frustration for days. I'm concerned for her blood pressure."

"So," Daisy leaned in Jemma's direction, her elbows resting on her knees and her smile turning into an impressive bad-cop sneer. "You and Fitz almost made out."

"Correct," Jemma confirmed cautiously.

"But then you didn't."

"Also correct."

"And now people are saying that you're‒ how do I phrase this delicately… a little boy-crazy?"

Jemma sat up, squinting in disbelief. "Is that really what people are saying?"

Bobbi whipped out her phone from her jeans pocket. "Sci-fi's hot new British import Jemma Simmons caught in love triangle with two hunky co-stars." The headline was followed with pictures of Jemma, Fitz, and an extra she barely even knew.

"Bloody hell," Jemma murmured, dropping her head into her hands.

"One might suggest," Daisy said innocently, "that if you're gonna serve the time…"

"Oh, please," Jemma shushed her. "As if he didn't hate me enough before this whole mess."

"Funny you should say that," Daisy tilted her head, straining to keep her expression serious. "I saw something on TMZ earlier that seemed to suggest otherwise."

Jemma tore her hands from her face just long enough to scowl in Daisy's direction.

"This is even worse than I thought," Bobbi sighed audibly, rolling her head to the side.

Daisy slapped her arm. "Told ya."

"How can two people so smart be so dumb?"

"Beats me," Daisy shrugged, shaking her head.

"Hello," Jemma waved her hand. "Your allegedly promiscuous friend is having an actual crisis. Focus, please."

Instead of restoring order, her plea made her friends cackle wildly in concert. This was just great. She was now a literal laughingstock.

Suddenly, it occurred to her that Fitz‒ bashful, awkward, easily embarrassed Fitz‒ might not be overjoyed at the media's sudden interest in their imaginary relationship, either.

"Is he okay with‒ all this?" She waved toward the window. "Have you spoken to him?"

"Hunter's with him now. There's a sizeable welcoming committee at his place too, so… he's a little shaken."

Jemma felt herself blanch with guilt, knowing she was partly responsible for his being upset. If only she'd let him go when he wanted to…

"Hey. Hey, Jemma." Daisy grabbed her hand. "They'll be bored with you soon enough. You're not that interesting. It's gonna be okay."

"Is it?" she asked skeptically, before springing to her feet and pacing across the living room. "This is Fitz we're talking about. He's never going to let this go. He's so damn contrary and antagonistic. It's like he enjoys arguing‒"

"With you," Bobbi clarified. "He enjoys arguing with you."

"Yes, with me! Nothing I do or say is ever satisfactory to him. He thinks he's so clever. And of course, he is, but…"

"But?" Daisy said, gesturing for her to go on.

Jemma's pacing intensified as she rambled on about Fitz's misplaced arrogance, staggering stubbornness, explosive temper, dubious sense of humor, terrible taste in Who companions and obnoxiously blue eyes.

"That said," she said, coming to a halt, "after all these months working so closely with him, I‒ I can't imagine my life without him anymore. It's all very confusing," she confessed, her eyes widening with surprise as she realized everything she'd just conceded to. To an unbiased witness, that tirade might have sounded a lot like an admission of… something other than disdain.

Bobbi exchanged a long, meaningful look with Daisy. "You've never told him any of this, have you?"

"Oh, lord no," Jemma shuddered. "If I did, his head would probably reach a boiling point and explode on the spot."

"Or …" Daisy said pointedly, "he could profess his undying love for you, pin you to the nearest flat surface and proceed to get you pregnant with half a dozen nerd babies." She wiggled her eyebrows, her grin growing wider when she noticed Jemma's furious blushing.

"Yeah," Bobbi nodded, scrunching up her nose. "That seems more likely than the other thing."

* * *

After the crowd of gossip-hungry hounds had thankfully dispersed, Jemma spent the rest of the weekend revisiting, deconstructing and analyzing every single interaction she could remember having with Fitz, from their first audition together to that dreadful meeting in Victoria's office.

As the hours passed, her initial enthusiasm began to fade with the mounting realization that Daisy and Bobbi were wrong. The notion that her apparent infatuation with Fitz might be reciprocated simply didn't stand up to close examination.

He might have learned to better tolerate her over time, but he still sat as far from her as he possibly could on the rare occasions he'd joined the rest of the cast for drinks. He disagreed with her on every possible topic, which was hardly a solid base for a healthy relationship. And, of course, he hadn't let her kiss him. Which was probably for the best. Things were already awkward enough; a clumsy, unsatisfying kiss ‒and what else could it have been, when they clashed over literally everything?‒ would only have added insult to injury.

By Sunday evening, she had determined that her newly discovered feelings were most certainly a fluke as well. Perhaps he was a fairly attractive, reasonably intelligent, allegedly charming man‒ but people didn't fall in love without noticing. It was utterly implausible.

She'd been spending so much time in Abigail's shoes she'd developed a transference‒ that was the most logical explanation to all this‒ but she was a professional. She could work around it.

* * *

 _"The transmitter's dead," Abigail declared, the trepidation evident in her voice. "Even if we could emit a signal‒"_

 _"‒it wouldn't reach the base," Trevor nodded, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. "The capsule is meant to be undetectable. Once it switches to insulated mode, nothing gets in or out."_

 _"It's sealed, yes, but… Trevor, the porthole!" She grabbed his arm, her face animating with a tentative glimmer a hope._

 _Trevor frowned. "It's bulletproof, pressure-resistant‒"_

 _"Yes, but the seal is 4-hydroxy-4-methyl-2-mema‒ menta‒ penta‒_ Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry!"

The director impatiently shouted "Cut!" and Jemma covered her face with her hands as embarrassment burned her cheeks and sank her stomach. Fitz hurried out of the cramped pod-like set to stretch his legs as Elena, the set coordinator, walked to Jemma, a concerned expression on her face.

"What's wrong, Simmons?" Elena asked as the crew bustled around them, preparing for yet another take. "You never flub your lines, even when they're a mouthful."

"I apologize, truly I‒ I‒" Jemma sucked in a large breath. "I have no excuse for my distraction."

In the distance, Fitz was standing idly, staring at the toe of his shoes, and she couldn't help but notice how endearingly boyish his curls looked in this light. She watched him rub the side of his face with those long, graceful fingers of his and sighed.

As impossible as it seemed, it was becoming very clear that Jemma's feelings weren't the least bit imaginary. Just sitting against him in the tight space of the capsule set, she could feel her heartbeat quicken. Her concentration was shot and they were getting behind schedule and it was all her fault. This is a disaster, she thought miserably.

Fitz turned her way and briefly met her eye, and she swiftly looked away, feeling like she'd been caught. When she cautiously glanced in his direction again, he was staring squarely at her, his eyes filled with something akin to longing. A shiver of awareness coursed through her. So… maybe not such a disaster, after all.

"Oh, now I get it," Elena smirked, glancing back and forth between the two of them. "Look, I'm happy for you, I know it's been a long time coming, but you should ogle each other on your own time, okay?"

"Yes, of course, yes, I'm sorry," Jemma stammered, nodding feverishly. A tentative course of action was forming in her head, but for roughly another hour and a half, she had to act like the professional she'd always claimed to be.

Lunch break couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

Jemma's hands were shaking so badly from nerves, the steamy mug she carried shook precariously with each step. She had too much on her mind to worry about tea spatters, though. Her heart was in her throat and her stomach kept twisting into elaborate knots. Several times, she considered turning on her heels and running back to the safety of her own trailer. She'd never thought something as simple as knocking on a door could require an act of great courage, and yet those three little taps were among the hardest things she'd ever done.

"Simmons?" Fitz frowned, looking quite perplexed to find her perched on the first step of his trailer.

"Hi. I brought you some tea." Her smile was tremulous, but it held up as she presented him with the mug.

Fitz's frown deepened as he glanced from her face to her hand and back. "Huh. That's‒ thanks."

"It's English Breakfast," she said pointedly with a little nod of her head.

"Okay…" he trailed off, clearly missing the point.

"It's your favorite, isn't? 'The good stuff'? I seem to remember we once argued about tea blends, of all things."

"Yeah. I remember that too," he said, rubbing the back of head with his hand.

Jemma took a fortifying breath while reviewing the mental list she'd carefully assembled while the kettle boiled. But what had been perfectly clear moments earlier was now a fuzzy, nonsensical mess.

"Over the past few months, we've fought about the best and worst varieties of apple, whether Mikey or Data should be the rightful leader of the Goonies, the lack of refinement of my preferred tequila-based cocktail, which David Bowie 90's album is the most regrettable, the judiciousness of each color choice of my highlighting system and whether David Tennant or Matt Smith has the best head of hair."

"Err, I guess you're right," he said, wincing. "Looks like we've had a lot of random squabbles."

"Why is that, do you think?" she asked with another encouraging nod.

"I guess‒ we're very different people."

"It could be the reason, yes," she conceded, tilting her head to the side, "but I have another theory."

Suddenly, his expression changed, his eyes filling with earnestness as he began connecting the dots. "You do?" he asked, hope filling the cracks in his voice, and she felt her heart swell in her chest at the sound.

"Yes. And I would very much like to share it with you," she beamed, fighting to keep her voice steady. "Do you think I could come in?"

Wordlessly, he stepped back, holding the door open for her, and she slipped inside his trailer. Setting the mug down on the counter, Jemma started wringing her hands together. She could feel her wits evading her as her trepidation grew.

"You, huh, had a theory?" he asked, his voice breaking slightly, and took a step closer.

Electricity was zinging between them at a dizzying speed; it sent heat creeping up her neck, made her breathing erratic.

"Mmhmm," was all she could think to reply, leaning forward as if she was drawn to him by a magnetic pull.

She touched her lips to his softly, tentatively, the memory of their earlier false start making her cautious. But this time, Fitz didn't try to run away. Instead, he pressed her more firmly against him, molding his mouth to hers. His hand bunched up the fabric of her sweater as he pulled her impossibly close, sending heat coursing through her system.

She couldn't hold back a whimper when his fingers threaded through her hair, cradling her head and angling her face so he could deepen their kiss, as every cell in her body cheered.

If her thought process hadn't been temporarily impaired, she would have laughed at herself for ever entertaining the thought that kissing Fitz would be anything less than phenomenal. They responded to each other the way they did on set: with fierceness and enthusiasm, instinctively in sync.

"God, Jemma," he croaked, breathing shakily against her lips, the awed expression on his face turning into a slight smirk. "If I had known all this time that this was what it took to make you run out of words‒"

"I didn't think‒ I thought you hated me," she whispered dazedly, chasing after his mouth.

Fitz chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling with happiness. "I thought you hated me. "

"Well, you were quite infuriating!" she said with a hint of reproach, and rested her forehead against his to catch her breath.

He gave her a sheepish look. "That first time, during auditions, I‒ I panicked," he admitted. "I was desperate to impress you. I tried so hard to find something witty and interesting to say to you… instead, I blurted out the first thing I could think of and of course, it came out the wrong way."

"You told me, and I quote, that stiff and cerebral wasn't a bad way to approach my character, even though you would have gone for something less obvious." She poked his chest with her index finger for good measure, before testing the soft prickle of his stubble‒ like a cat, he leaned into her caress.

As irritated as she'd been, she had taken his remark in consideration for the next round of auditions, lending Abigail more warmth and quirkiness than she possessed on the page. But she certainly wasn't about to admit to that to him. Something told her she would never hear the end of it.

"Right." He winced apologetically. "And it kept happening every time I opened my mouth. I was miserable but… at least I was getting a reaction out of you. Not the kind of reaction I was hoping for, I admit." He shrugged, his eyes clouding. "I suppose I was terrified of repeating the Academy fiasco."

"Ugh, Fitz," she said fondly. The way he shivered when she trailed kisses down his throat was infinitely rewarding. "I came to work every morning wondering how I could make you warm up to me… I guess I developed tunnel vision. I wanted so badly for you to like me, I didn't realize I wanted you to… like me."

"I've liked you since I was 16 years old," he conceded, his voice uneven, and tilted his head to the side, offering more skin for her to explore.

"Let's see how much I can get you to like me now," Jemma chuckled, her heart stirring with elation.

It was exhilarating, how little it took to draw a shaky sigh out of this man‒ she could already tell she was going to have a lot of fun driving him out of his mind.

"So, what happens now?" he asked, as his fingers slipped under the hem of her top, drawing patterns on the small of her back.

"Now… we stop wasting time," she said decisively, and he hummed in agreement. "It appears we have 23 minutes left before we're due back on set. Do you think that between the two of us, we can figure out a way to pass the time?" Her voice was wavering, but it was entirely his fault‒ he'd been nipping at the sensitive spot he'd just discovered above her collarbone, making her knees wobble and her train of thought derail.

"We can certainly try," he agreed, his eyes darkening with anticipation, and very little was said for a while after that.

They half walked, half jogged back to the soundstage with hardly a moment to spare. Despite her best effort, Jemma had to chew on her bottom lip to keep her face from splitting into a wide grin, and Fitz appeared to be facing a similar problem.

Since neither of them had enjoyed their brush with the tabloid press, they'd reached the conclusion that their new relationship status should remain, if not a secret, at least as low-key as possible. Unfortunately, Jemma could already tell that semi-secrecy was going to be an ongoing challenge. As they walked side by side, she could hardly resist letting the back of her hand brush against Fitz's time and time again, and she longed to prolong the contact.

"So, how do you think it went?" Daisy asked, elbowing Bobbi's ribs as they approached.

Bobbi turned to them, making a show of examining Fitz's face, her brow furrowing in concentration. "Head looks fine to me. Unboiled, unexploded…"

"So I guess I was right," Daisy grinned, as Jemma shot her an exaggerated eyeroll.

Before they could be teased into revealing more than they should, Jemma dragged Fitz away, answering his questioning look with an inflection of her eyebrow. He nodded his agreement, the corner of his mouth ticking up.

"Ugh, look at them. Nauseating already," Daisy huffed. "Don't forget to name your firstborn after me. It's the least you could do!" she called after them while Bobbi snickered by her side.

Jemma sighed. Secrecy was going to be extremely challenging, indeed.

* * *

 **A few months later**

"So, are you two ready to finally kiss?" Koenig asked giddily as Victoria's coffee cup wobbled dangerously in his hand. "There's been so much buildup and anticipation! You wouldn't believe some of the fanfiction I've read‒"

"I probably wouldn't," Fitz grimaced before he rubbed his face with both hands. "God, it's gonna be so awkward‒"

"Excuse me," Jemma scoffed. "Awkward? I'll have you know I'm an excellent kisser. I've received nothing but compliments for my technique and style."

Fitz snorted at that, sticking his fists to his hips. "As if anyone would ever risk telling you otherwise. In case you didn't know, you don't exactly take kindly to criticism."

"Oh, that's rich coming from you, Mr. 'I would be the best at everything if only I tried, but I won't, so you'd better take my word for it, isn't that convenient?'" Jemma spitfired, her eyes narrowing in challenge.

"Huh, forget I said anything," Koenig muttered with an apologetic smile before he hurried away.

She and Fitz exchanged a conspiratorial look of mirth behind his back. It was quite an accomplishment that they'd managed to keep their relationship private from everyone but their family and close friends, despite the initial media scrutiny‒ a juicier alleged scandal had quickly come along, sending tabloids flocking away to the sound of Daisy's relentless I-told-you-so's.

Cosmic Curse's season's finale was a fast-paced, high stakes episode, ending with the kind of shocking cliffhanger that would keep the audience talking well into the summer. The script was packed with action sequences, but it also held a few sweet, emotional moments‒ including the Trevigail kiss fans had long been clamoring for.

There was an unusual agitation on set as they prepped for Scene 28. The scene, as it was emphatically referred to by those in the know, was so eagerly anticipated that many cast and crew members were hanging around the set, chatting and snapping pictures "for posterity"‒ which could only mean Instagram and Twitter.

"Ready?" Jemma murmured, bumping her elbow against his.

"As I'll ever be," Fitz replied resignedly before he adjusted his posture, getting into character.

Minutes later, it was happening: they were full-on snogging in front of dozens of coworkers and friends while a camera circled around them. Fitz had been right: it was bloody awkward… at first.

But as much as Jemma tried to be mindful of her marks, she found it increasingly difficult to maintain her focus when Fitz's lips were on hers, his hands wrapping around her waist and bunching up her lab coat. Whether it was intentional or not, he was pulling her flush against him the way he always did when he meant to sweep her off her feet, and Jemma couldn't help but mold her body to his in response, sighing into his mouth as her heartbeat picked up and…

"Cut! "

Panting slightly, they tore away from each other and struggled to find some semblance of composure‒ she was suddenly very thirsty, while Fitz had an urgent message to check on his phone before the crew was ready for another take.

When the director, Alphonso Mackenzie, gestured for them both to join him on the side of the soundstage, Jemma felt a second wave of embarrassment rising.

"Look guys, that was good, that was… very convincing," Mack assured them. "But you're going to have to cool it down. This is a bit much for the 9pm slot on a network channel."

"Cool it down. Got it," Fitz croaked, the tips of his ears turning bright red.

"Will do," Jemma concurred, her voice as peppy as she could manage.

As they walked back to the center of the set, feeling more self-conscious than ever, Daisy gave them an enthusiastic thumb up and a wide, amused grin. Meanwhile, Hunter held out a hand in front of Bobbi, flexing his fingers expectantly.

"Come on, love, time to pay up."

With a sigh, Bobbi fished several tens out of her purse and reluctantly slapped them in his hand.

"What is this about? Jemma asked, instantly suspicious.

"I wagered that you two would be able to display some level of professional restraint," Bobbi smirked. "Evidently, I was wrong."

"Told you the nauseating brats would never be able to keep their tongues out of each other's throat," Hunter snorted, stuffing Bobbi's cash in his pocket.

"I have plenty of restraint, thank you very much," Jemma said haughtily. "But I'm afraid poor Fitz is a little inexperienced‒ hence the excessive enthusiasm."

"I can't believe this is my life," Fitz said with an exaggerated groan as he stepped on his mark, his tone betrayed by the crinkling of his eyes. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"You must have terrible karma," Jemma gleefully retorted. "Matching with your attitude."

As they waited for Mack to shout "Action", Jemma stared fondly at him‒ her partner, her friend, her love, her perfect match, who was currently looking at her with eyes so soft she was tempted to throw the take and just kiss him for all she was worth‒ and she felt her heart expand several sizes.

In two weeks' time, they would be flying back to the UK to spend time with their families… and meet each other's parents. As terrifying as it was, she couldn't wait to meet the formidable Mrs. Fitz.

Jemma knew they probably wouldn't be able to keep their relationship a secret much longer, but it was alright. It was fine. She was ready for more. She was ready for _everything_.


End file.
